On the Wings of a Demon

The treasure vault is pale and grim like death itself. It doesn't help that I'm surrounded by sightless suits of armor. I could lose myself in the void behind the visors of these cold, suspended figures. My body convulses with a shudder. This entire place makes me very uncomfortable. It's a useless task, since no one would ever think of stealing from here, and even if they did, what good would an unarmed, maltreated slave do in protecting the valuables? I have a feeling that this is just a subtle way that Lord Brunsworth is showing me his superiority and wealth. How pleasant it is to be reminded of how insignificant you are in the face of a lord. The worst thing about this is the time it gives me to think. Happy thoughts are hard to come by after more than a decade of enslavement.